


Waiting Up

by orphan_account



Category: Poirot - Agatha Christie
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-16
Updated: 2012-06-16
Packaged: 2017-11-07 21:42:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poirot comes home to find Hastings fast asleep in an armchair, waiting for him to come home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting Up

**Author's Note:**

> This has no plot at all. I felt the fandom needed one PWP, at least.
> 
> This is in part inspired by Cicerothewriter's "Afternoon Delight", where she mentioned a sleepy Hastings - my imagination ran amok with that idea!
> 
> Also, this is more of a practice piece for another fic I'm working on. I wanted to practice writing a sexual scene, because there's two(!) planned for the fic I'm working on, and also I've never written one before. So, if it's alright with you guys, could you leave some constructive criticism in the comments for me, please? I don't care if your comment's nice or harsh - I just want to know if it's realistic, if it's absolute shiz, what's bad about it and how I can improve it. Thanksies!

It wasn't often Poirot finished a case without Hastings. In fact, the little Belgian man usually insisted on having him there at the end, if only to have some company on the journey home. However, this time Hastings was not with him. The case had been relatively simple - a straightforward theft case with a few interesting twists. But the thief, not fancying a few months behind bars, decided to try and escape, running half the length of London before Hastings and Japp, who had been giving chase, caught up with him. After that excursion, Hastings had looked dead on his feet, so Poirot sent him straight home to rest. He'd put up quite a fight, insisting he stayed, but Poirot was firm on the matter. After much discussion, Hastings reluctantly left for the flat, leaving Poirot to finish any paperwork and walk home alone.

The hour was late when Poirot finally arrived home. When he arrived, he hung his coat up, as well as his hat, and was about to continue straight to their shared bedroom when he noticed one of the lamps in the living room was left on. This was quite unusual - Hastings usually took special care to turn them all off, mainly because Poirot would get annoyed if he didn't. He walked into the living room to turn it off, but as soon as he walked through the door, Poirot realized why the light was on. A shadow was occupying the armchair across from the lit lamp (well, it was more like a chaise-longue, but Hastings couldn't pronounce that, so they called it an armchair). Upon closer inspection, Poirot realized the shadow was Hastings, curled up and fast asleep.

Hastings struck him as oddly handsome, snuggled into the chair as he was. Not that he wasn't handsome at the best of times, but here, like this, there was something more that was on show. Perhaps it was the lighting, perhaps it was the lateness of the hour, but Poirot felt loathe to wake his Sleeping Beauty from his slumber. He thought on the matter for a little while, before deciding to pull a blanket over his partner and leave him in the armchair. It would mean he himself would have to go to bed alone that night, but Hastings would probably wake up after a while from the discomfort that was sleeping in an armchair and join him in his bed.

Making a quiet Gallic sound of discontentment, Poirot walked up to him, and carefully started to remove his tie. Sleeping in one's clothes made them get quite creased, and Poirot would not have his partner leave creased clothes lying around the flat. Done with the tie, he moved onto the shirt. Once that was too removed and folded, Poirot turned back to Hastings, and was about to remove his trousers when a thought suddenly struck him.

Hastings would be much more comfortable in the bed. And no matter how handsome Hastings looked when he was asleep, Poirot would need to wake him up for that. And to do that...

His smile slowly extended into a cat-like grin. Poirot had an idea.

Putting the folded clothes to the side, he closed in on the sleeping man. He ran his fingers through the other man's hair, smiling slightly as Hastings unconsciously leaned into the touch. He kissed the dusky pink lips beneath him, tugging a little on the bottom lip as he drew away. Hastings mumbled something unintelligible in response, but remained asleep. Poirot continued to kiss him in such a manner, even moving on to suck at an earlobe. His hands removed themselves from Hastings' hair and crept down to caress his upper body, massaging and pinching his nipples until the were hard peaks. Aside from mumbling a little in enjoyment, Hastings did not show any sign of waking. Time for something a little more drastic.

He gently ran his fingers down the crease of Hastings stomach, stopping halfway down to thumb the edges of his navel. Hastings murmured in contentment, but still he slept on, curling further into the pillow. Letting his fingers play a little on Hastings' abdomen, Poirot returned his attention to Hastings neck, which was now exposed to him, as he had very helpfully turned his head to the side whilst curling into the pillow. A few butterfly kisses elicited a pleased sigh from the slumbering man, a nibble on the collar bone made him moan quietly, a wet kiss to the dip of his breast bone caused him to arch his back slightly, but it wasn't until he lightly bit on the sensitive skin that Hastings finally awoke.

"Gods..." Poirot looked up from his ministrations, and saw Hastings blearily watching him through lust-hazed eyes. Poirot smiled mischievously up at him, before he returned to the canvas of skin before him. He trailed kisses along the length of his breast bone, before turning his ministrations to his nipples, which were still hard from his exploration earlier. As his mouth worked on his upper body, his fingers slid down from his navel and moved lower down to cup his groin through his trouser material. Hastings hissed in response.

Poirot rubbed against the growing hardness beneath his hand, all the while watching Hastings melt against his touch. He lent forward to give some attention to his collarbone again, but Hastings anticipated this, and sat up to press their lips together. They exchanged kisses, hot and wet and rough, until they were both panting, and their bodies strained against the material trapping them. Hastings tugged at Poirot's clothes until he was shirtless too, and proceeded to nibble and bite at the exposed skin. Poirot let him have his way for a little while, enjoying the attention his Hastings was lavishing upon his body. Then he took control again, pushing Hastings back into the armchair and sitting astride him so that their groins were pressed together.

He lent forwards and captured the other man's lips in his own again, this time the kisses more biting and urgent. As he did so, his groin rubbed against Hastings', creating the most pleasant friction between them. They both exulted in pleasure it gave them, the sound of rustling fabric mingling with their combined moans and sighs. Poirot repeated the motion a second, then a third, building up a rhythm. Hastings smiled at him with mindless pleasure, bucking his hips in time with his thrusts. Their hips crashed together time and time again, the pleasure and heat building between them, until Poirot almost couldn't stand it anymore.

"Please... Take me..." Hastings breathed, so close to the edge that it almost hurt to look at him. Poirot unbuttoned his partner's trousers and took him in hand. Hastings did the same, and they thrust against each other, hands brushing, , bodies grinding against each other at a blinding speed, groins rubbing in ecstatic heat. It was only a few thrusts until cried out in pleasure as climax hit, Poirot following soon after.

Their bodies slowed, and for a little while they simply lay together in the armchair, contentedly basking in the afterglow, completely spent. Poirot was slowly carding his fingers through Hastings' hair, whilst Hastings looked as if he were about to fall asleep again. Poirot, seeing this state of affairs, gently kissed him and said; " _Mon ange_ , you should not have waited for me."

"Mmm?" was the only reply he got. Poirot looked up, intending to repeat himself, but stopped at the expression of sleepy confusion on the other man's face. He instead smiled affectionately up at Hastings, who smiled back, a little unsure as to what exactly he was smiling at but feeling contented enough to smile anyway. Another kiss, before Poirot untangled himself from Hastings and got to his feet, pulling Hastings up with him.

"A wash, then bed, I think for you _mon cher_."

"Mmm." Hastings willingly followed Poirot to the bathroom they shared. He sat on the edge of the bath as Poirot gently cleaned him with a washcloth, as he was far too tired to do it himself. Poirot then led him to the bed, and after tucking him in with a kiss, Poirot returned to the bathroom to conduct his own pre-sleep routine. By the time he returned, Hastings was out like a light, curled around where Poirot usually slept, lightly snoring. Smiling fondly, Poirot climbed into the bed next to him. Hastings curled around him almost immediately, and it wasn't long until they both were at peace in sleep.


End file.
